


Under the Weather

by roebling



Series: Calling the Moon [5]
Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drabble, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-21
Updated: 2011-03-21
Packaged: 2017-10-23 05:25:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/246731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roebling/pseuds/roebling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spencer is sick; Brendon just wants to take care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the Weather

**Author's Note:**

> (Originally posted March 21, 2011)

"I'm not going to a doctor," Spencer said, teeth grit. "I'm not going to a doctor, and I'm not ... I'm not sick!"

Brendon looked skeptical. "Dude, it's cool. I know your werewolf immune system is supposed to be all invincible, but you're totally sick. You're like, one bad coughing fit away from me getting out the Nyquil."

"I'm not sick," Spencer grumbled. "Brendon, I don't get sick ... "

"You keep saying that, and yet ..." Brendon grinned. "You're sick as a dog."

Spencer groaned again, although this time it had nothing to do with the unsettled churn of his stomach. "That was terrible," he said. "That was so bad, dude."

"You could just go to doctor," Brendon said. "Seriously. In and out. They'd give you some antibiotics and you'd be on your way."

Spencer slouched over, laying his head on his crossed arm. His blue eyes shone from between the lank fall of his greasy hair. Brendon reached over and brushed his bangs behind his ear.

"I can't go to the doctor, Brendon," he said again, more serious. "What if they ... What if they can tell?"

Brendon frowned. "I don't think they're going to be able to tell you're a werewolf, dude. Seriously. I don't think that's something my GP normally checks for. It's probably more of a specialization or something, like those doctors that only look at toes. They totally have those, right?"

That earned Brendon a tiny smile, but Spencer was not such an easy nut to crack. "What if they want to draw blood? What if I've got like, an extra chromosome or something? What if they find some like mutant wolf DNA in my blood? What if ..."

"Woah, woah," Brendon said. "Spence, you are totally awesome, but that's Spiderman, dude. You are not Spiderman."

Spencer rolled his eyes. "I know that. I'm a werewolf, though, Brendon. I know it's ... I know you don't like to think about it, but I am, and if I go to the doctor they're going to be able to tell."

Brendon frowned. "I like to think about it. I don't mind thinking about it. I like to think about you, and it's part of who you are." Spencer opened his mouth to respond, but Brendon cut him off. "But if you insist, I'm not going to make you go to the doctor. I don't know how they would ever possibly know, but fine. Will you at least take some Nyquil? You sound like you swallowed a bullfrog."

Spencer laughed, but it turned into a cough. "That's totally something your mom says, isn't it?"

Brendon's cheeks went hot. "A Mother Urie original," he said, raising his eyebrows.

Spencer leaned back, neck loose, chin tilted up. His skin, always pale, had taken on an uncomfortably greenish tinge. His eyes were red and puffy, and there was a growing mountain of tissues on the side table. "Fine," he said. "I'll take the damn medicine."

Brendon didn't really have any natural maternal instincts or anything, but there was something kind of nice about helping Spencer up to the bedroom, fluffing the pillows so he could sit semi-upright, and tucking the blankets around him. Spencer bore his fussing with little protest, but he was still and his mouth was twisted in an unhappy little grimace. When Brendon came back with the bottle of Nyquil, he was totally prepared to measure out the right dose, but Spencer grabbed the bottle from him before he had a chance.

"I've got the flu, Brendon," he said. "I'm not incapacitated."

"I'm just trying to help," Brendon said. "You're sick. You should be resting."

Spencer rolled his eyes and swallowed the medicine with a wrinkled nose.

"Do you want a cup of tea?" Brendon asked. "Or, we could totally carry the television up here so you could watch movies? I could run to the store and pick you up some ..."

"I'm fine," Spencer said. "Seriously. I'm fine, Brendon. You wanted me to rest. I'm going to rest now."

He closed both eyes, deliberate.

Brendon crossed his arms over his chest and waited just a moment, watching.

Spencer opened one eye. "I'm resting now. Your staring is awfully loud. I don't think I can rest with you staring so loudly."

Brendon snorted and shook his head. "Fine," he said, fondly exasperated. "But if you need anything you'll yell, right?"

"I don't need anything," Spencer said, turning over onto his side and pressing into the pillows. "Jus' gonna go to sleep."

This time, when he closed his eyes, his body settled, loosely, and his mouth parted slightly.

Brendon stayed for just a moment, watching. When he was sure that Spencer was sleeping, he quietly shut the bedroom door.


End file.
